


Collars

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Can I have some Ollie where the reader has asked him to go *ahem* in control for them? NSFW if possible'Can do! Cute switchy relationships abound.





	Collars

You stretch out, and his fingers trace over your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You know what to do – your fingers grip the bedposts, leaving you splayed out, head close to the ground and shoulders beginning to ache. But you’ve been trained.

A long finger hooks under the leather collar around your neck, and gently pulls on it – just enough, for a moment, to close off your air, and then back again.

“ _Du bist schön._ ” His voice is reverential – Ollie has a lovely voice. “Do you ache,  _Häschen_?”

You do, in multiple ways – there’s an ache settling into your shoulders that Ollie may have to massage out when you’re done, or distract you from, but there’s a deeper ache between your thighs that started as he tied the collar on with steady fingers, and hasn’t abated yet. You know what you want, but you know what you need as well, and you’re sure Ollie can give you both.

“Yes,” you breathe, and you feel his fingers press against you.

“Back. Onto them.” You do so, sinking onto his fingers, and moan gently. “Quiet. I want you to feel as if you will burst.” You nod, and close your eyes, face sideways on the pillows, feeling him stretch you; you stop rocking your hips, and he stills his fingers. “I told you-”

“Sorry, Sir,” you gasp, and grinding back onto them, feeling him scissor his fingers and stretch you out with each movement. You hardly need it, you are desperate for him, but it feels good, so good that you lose yourself in the rhythm and when he withdraws his fingers you yelp in wordless, affronted frustration. His laugh at that somehow makes it worse, and you shake your butt at him angrily, only to receive a strike upon it that makes you  _really_  yelp.

“ _Halt_.” You feel chills, and his touch once more elicits goosebumps. You can’t see him – you daren’t try to turn to look. “ _Du schmeckst gut._ ” You feel the bed depress behind you, and wonder if this is it – if this is so easy, if this is all, and then you feel him knock your legs apart a little further and spread you wide with his thumbs.

“Ollie-”

_Slap_. You yelp and know this will sting tomorrow.

“Sir.”

“Better.” You feel his stubble on your most sensitive places, and then his tongue runs over you, leaving you shivering again. The ache is not abating – it’s getting worse, and as he laps at you from behind, you find yourself grinding back onto his face, moaning again. “ _Häschen_ …”

You grit your teeth – it intensifies it, so much, to hold in that moan, that beg, that plea, to just take what he’s doing to you, and you close your eyes, feeling your head spin, toes curling up against him. Normally you’d be whimpering and cross-eyed by now, but the build-up is like smouldering lead in your stomach, and you could cry. Maybe you will. Maybe that’s what he wants.

“Let me know when you are close.” Your answer is a harsh pant of air, and he laughs again. “So desperate for me…”

You feel him lap at your clit, and tighten your fingers in the bedsheets, praying to God that he doesn’t do what you think he’s going to do – as you find yourself on the edge, muscles tightening and releasing as you try and restrain yourself, you choke out that you’re close, and he stops. You knew he would.

“How many times shall I do this,  _Häschen_?” he asks, and you shake your head urgently. “No more? But I am in charge.” You turn your head and look at him – he looks gorgeous, wearing nothing more than his own collar (a glossy brown where yours is a matt black), and rock-hard. Your breath is torn from your lungs as you involuntarily twitch again, and he walks around you for a moment. “Okay. Once. For now.”

You see him wrap his fingers around himself and begin to stroke, and your heart pounds in your chest – seeing him tip his head back, those smoky green eyes closing and that mouth falling into a perfect ‘O’, leaves you closing your eyes and burying your head in the pillow, and you hear him walk around you, panting a little.

“You are beautiful,” he repeats, in English this time, and you wish you could negate this ache – but you daren’t let go of the bedposts. You daren’t. What if he doesn’t let you come? “You are mine.” The bed depresses again, and this time, you feel him take your hip in one hand, and press up against you, sliding in slowly enough to make you tense up. “Oh, darling… so wet for me…” He mutters something inaudible in German and then his hips begin to rock, making your shoulders burn and finally giving that ache inside you something to soothe it. “Oh,  _sweetheart_ …”

“Sir,” you choke out, and his fingers dig into your hips – you grit your teeth, trying to keep silent, but it feels as though your chest is about to split, and he fucks you slowly, making sure to get every inch of pleasure out of your body that he can. It’s at his pace, not yours, and when you try and grind back his fingers dig painfully deep into your flesh.

“(Y/N)…” he gasps, and you know how he looks – head back, losing himself in you. You burn – you need to touch yourself, you can feel yourself on the edge, and you let out a choked, frustrated sob. “ _Gott_ , I… I…” His eyes are either closed or rolled back in his head – you would smirk at how close a certain video got it,  _if_  you weren’t  _far_  too busy desperate to come – and as he pulls you back onto him, only your grip on the bedposts stops you from falling. His noises are grunts of pleasure now, and he stills for a moment, breath panted and desperate, and then shallowly thrusts into you, groaning your name softly as he does so, cumming deep into you. You whimper faintly, and he leans forward, sweat-beaded chest sticking to your bare back. “You may.”

One hand almost flies between your thighs, where he still thrusts into you shallowly, and the other under you to support you, and you moan greedily as you touch yourself, begging in tongues almost to come – it isn’t long before you do, tightening around his softening cock, and he pushes back, allowing you to fall onto the bed, dappled with sweat and wide-eyed.

“Wow,” he murmurs, and curls his lanky frame around you, stroking your hair out of your eyes, and you nuzzle up to him. “Wow. I… wow. Words. Haha.”

“Jesus. Okay. You’re doing that more. Lots more,” you reply, and he holds your hip, kissing your forehead. “We’re so sticky. We need to shower.” He grins, and you gently tug on his collar. “Best idea ever by me, by the way.”

“Next time, I wish you to be in charge,” he grins, and you kiss him properly, both of you tasting salty with sweat. “…it is definitely time for a shower.”

 

 


End file.
